


The Spirit

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: First Times, Holiday: xmas, M/M, None - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 03:32:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/793527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Jim, and Blair, and a trip to the Christmas Market.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Spirit

## The Spirit

by Sammy

Author's homepage: <http://members.tripod.com/~LittleSammy/index.htm>

Disclaimers: Not mine. Just played with them. Put 'em back unharmed. 

Notes: One - yes, I'm late for a Christmas story. Sorry about that. Think about it this way - the kids in Spain always get their presents on January 6th. :) 

Two - speaking of European traditions... This whole Christmas Market setting is fairly common in every German city (believe me - you simply can't get around it. It's _everywhere_.), but I realized pretty late that not many people _outside_ of Germany may know it. By then, the whole plot was worked around it, and I _had_ to use it. Sooo... since Cascade already has a Little Italy, a Little Russia and a Chinatown, I figured it would make good use of a 'German Quarter', too. ;) 

Three - this is part of another 'story exchange' I did with my soul mate Nikita. Her companion piece will be posted along with this. And we both went a little over the top with what was supposed to be a short and simple scene... 

Well, here's the result. Hope you like it. And now I've babbled enough. On with the show. 

With sincere thanks to my soul mate for the idea that brought this on, and to Michael Flatley for the musical support. :) 

Warnings: None... if you excuse a certain amount of Christmas sappiness and the gratuitous use of eggnog and gluehwein to get our boys to do what I want. 

* * *

He wasn't cut out for this. 

There, he'd finally said it. That had just saved him years of therapy. Didn't change the fact though that he couldn't do this. 

Okay, so he had done a lot of weird stuff in his lifetime. _Quite_ a lot, actually, and some people might describe his lifestyle as fascinating, diverse, or even 'sparkling'. (Yeah, it was a weird phrase, but he had really heard this one once.) 

And in a way, it was. He'd been with so many different tribes that he'd long since lost count, and he hadn't always managed to stay objective. Actually, he'd gotten pretty much involved sometimes. (And yes, that was to be taken in every possible way.) 

Lately, there was the dangerous stuff, too. Since he'd started working with Jim, anyway. Since then he'd been... let's see... he'd been shot at. Drugged. Kidnapped. Shot at. Beaten up. Embarrassed by his mom. Shot at. Used. Wired. Emotionally abused. Oh, and let's not forget that he'd been shot at. Maybe the only thing he hadn't been so far was raped - and he was pretty glad about _that_ , thank you very much. 

Okay, so it wasn't like he couldn't adjust. He'd done a lot of adjusting, especially during the last year - adjusting to living with Jim Ellison, which could be downright-- 

Well. At least it _could_ have been - but it seldom was, actually. Living with Jim had turned out to run much smoother than he would have expected, and somewhere deep inside he knew that Jim had been doing the real work here. 

Sometimes he tried to think about himself being in his friend's place, tried to imagine being the loner, who didn't even want to _work_ with someone else. The man, whose one try to share the peace and solitude of the loft with a life mate hadn't worked out too well. The Sentinel, who always guarded his territory carefully. 

And then he brought someone like himself into the picture, swirling head over heels into a previously organized life, throwing years of habit out with the garbage. 

One scary picture. 

Still, they worked well together, and they lived together even better. Despite his bitching about Jim's house rules, and bathroom habits, and tupperware code, Blair had never been seriously bothered by it. Instead he had seen it for what it was - the almost desperate try to keep his life, his personal space, to himself. 

Of course, he had failed miserably. 

They had been all over each other almost from day one, and once Jim had accepted the fact that they didn't just live together, but actually spent most of their time together, the rules had diminished pretty fast. Hell, he had even asked Blair to stay. 

Not with those words, mind you - or as many, for that matter. But there had been that one evening when he had told Jim about moving out soon, really, Scout's Honor, and about trying to find a new place to stay first thing in the morning, because it had been much more than a week now, and even more than a month, and... 

... and Jim had just looked at him with a strange expression on his face all of a sudden, and then he'd said "Don't." And when Blair had hesitated, he'd added a "Please", very quiet and barely understandable, and that had been his undoing. So Blair had shrugged, and nodded, and then he'd told Jim okay. 

That had been last year, and so far it had worked out - had, in fact, worked much better than he would have expected. Still - there were those times when Jim simply, honestly, drove him nuts. 

He knew that the rest of the world thought it to be the other way around. But the rest of the world obviously didn't know Jim Ellison when he was in one of his... moods. And Christ, did he have _moods_. 

Not the bad ones. Everyone knew the grouchy and cranky Ellison, and Blair himself had learned pretty well how to deal with him. 

But there were certain times when Jim really got under his skin. Those times when he was simply... enthusiastic? Bouncy? Unpredictable?! 

He'd tried to talk to others at the precinct about that, but he'd just ended up with raised eyebrows abound and those same labels glued to his own forehead instead. 

It was damn hard to live with an energetic Sentinel - and even harder when no one else knew he could even _have_ said moods. 

Like today, for instance. 

* * *

Christmas Eve. The one day of every year when people were supposed to be stressed, and hectic, and still hunting for last-minute presents. Definitely _not_ the time for the peace-on-earth and good-will-to-all-mankind spirit that The Industry tried to feed customers every year. He'd been there. He'd seen what Christmas made out of ordinary people. And 'hyenas' was a very mild word for it. No one was relaxed and cheerful at Christmas Eve. And no one in his right mind would go to the German Quarter of Cascade on this very evening. 

Except for Jim Ellison, of course. 

There was a different kind of madness going on here. It began traditionally during the last week of November, and it lasted throughout December until it mercifully came to an end at Christmas Day. And it was an officially sanctioned insanity called Christmas Market. 

When Jim had first told him he wanted to go there, Blair had thought it would be a nice idea. It was a multicultural thing after all, with craftsmen from all over the world selling their artwork - usually just the right thing for someone like him, and so he'd agreed to tag along. 

Then the thought had slowly begun to sink in that this might have been a somewhat hasty decision. Now, after more than three hours, he was abso-friggin'-lutely sure about that. This wasn't Christmas. This was... lunacy. 

Think of a fun fair on steroids. And then a bit worse. The streets were lined with wooden booths in which people sold nearly everything that could or couldn't be connected to the season - hand-made candles, jewelry, tree ornaments, and carved figures, scented oils... 

Take this picture and add people. Lots of people. Lots and _lots_ of people, who tried to make their way through the narrow streets that were already clustered with market stands, people who were chatting, humming, stopping to check out the offered goods - people who were, in short, blocking his way most of the time. 

Staying right behind Jim didn't help much. Okay, so for an unknown reason the crowd seemed to somehow melt around the Sentinel. Maybe it was the air of authority surrounding him that made them back away. Maybe just his broad shoulders. In any case, it didn't do much for Blair, because the masses drifted back to their place as soon as the cop had gone through, once again effectively cutting Blair off from his friend. Jostling through a horde of last-minute Christmas enthusiasts. Just how he'd always wanted to spent Christmas Eve. 

Oh, and then there was the food, of course. One out of three booths sold something to eat or drink - and variety was obviously not a problem here. Chinese, Mexican, French, and of course a lot of typically German dishes (that, frankly, made Blair's stomach turn when he even tried to _think_ about what they put in there). Different scents whirled together, trying to beat each other in intensity, and that created a mixture that was close to offensive. Sometimes he passed a booth where the scent of alcohol (some sort of hot wine most of the times - another German 'thing' he didn't quite get) was so overwhelming that it felt like a thick layer coating his throat from the inside. 

All in all - Blair felt miserable. His ears rang with Christmas carols that assaulted him from most of the booths in various sound levels. His nose itched, his skin itched, his eyes were red and burning by now, his mouth was dry, and he was definitely beginning to feel claustrophobic. 

So why in God's name were they still here?! 

* * *

A Sentinel who had caught the Christmas bug was something else entirely. Determined. Focused. In control. Just looking at him in this state made Blair nauseous. 

There was something very wrong with this picture. Jim was, after all, supposed to be the guy with the hyper-active, barely controllable senses. The guy with the allergies. Mr. I'll-sneeze-you-to-death-if-you-wear-the-wrong-aftershave. So why the hell wasn't _he_ the one with the giant headache here? 

He shook his head, watching Jim, who stood merely a few steps away and talked to a wood carver. His strong fingers held a small figurine, and he was stroking the smooth surface slowly, absentmindedly, while he chatted with the man. 

The big guy was enjoying himself. It completely defied logical reasoning, but in the midst of this loud, bright, and smelly place that was stuffed with too many people, Jim Ellison was actually having fun. 

* * *

After a while Blair simply couldn't take it any more. Christmas or not, this was going too far. 

"Hey, Jim." he began... and fell silent again when his friend turned to him and gave him one of these rare, ear-to-ear Ellison smiles. Geez. No fair. 

A lot of his resolve crumbled under the onslaught of that smile, leaving only the exhaustion of too many hours spent among too many people. He sighed and shook his head. "Jim, man, I'm spent. Can we head home?" 

And Jim... grinned. "Naw, not yet, Chief. What's the matter, you're not enjoying yourself?" With that he put the figurine down, thanked the man and went on to the next booth. 

'Oh, I _am_ enjoying _myself_. I'm _not_ enjoying _this_.' Blair took a deep breath and swallowed the comment, tagging along until he caught up with Jim once again. "I mean, what are we looking for, anyway, Jim? You didn't get all presents yet, or what?" 

Jim shook his head, still smiling. "No, it's--" He broke off, stopped dead in his tracks and put his nose up high in the air while he started sniffing like mad. "Eggnog!" he huffed and took off across the street as if he were in a trance, not sparing a second glance for his baffled guide. 

Blair blinked. Blinked again. "Eggnog?!" he finally managed. "We're looking for... eggnog?" 

* * *

Sweet Jesus, that stuff was _spiked_. 

Blair sniffed, and the whiff of alcohol fumes he caught with this breath made him feel like his nose would wrinkle up any second from pure shock. He shook his head when Jim raised his glass again to take another swallow of the thick liquid. Just _looking_ at it made his head ache. How could Jim even contemplate drinking it?! 

He sighed and leaned against the booth, arms crossed in front of his chest. "Hey, man. Someone has to drive around here, y'know?" 

"So drive." 

Blair barely got his arms un-crossed in time to catch the keys Jim dug out of his pocket and threw to him, and he stared at them wordlessly and unbelieving for a second. Then he recovered and frowned at his friend. 

"That was _not_ what I had in mind." Jim didn't bother to answer, just grinned at him, sipping eggnog. "Jim--" He broke off, at a loss for words. 

Under normal circumstances, he'd bitch a bit more, until Jim would eventually take him home because he'd heard enough of his whining - okay, so it was childish, but it worked. 

Today, though, that didn't feel like the right way. 

Maybe it was because he seldom had the chance to see Jim smile like that, relaxed, dazed... content. Or maybe because there weren't that many times when Jim was so completely in control of his body that even the enormous assault of sensual impressions that this market provided could go unnoticed. Or maybe it was because he liked a Jim who wasn't tense, and angry, and keeping a tight check on what he was supposed to feel, but one who was simply... happy. 

Blair sighed then, tucked the car keys into his own pocket and raised a hand to rub his forehead briefly. Okay, so he felt like his eyes were about to bulge out and explode any time soon. Maybe he could work on it and keep it down for a little while longer. 

"Listen, Jim - I'm gonna wait over there, okay?" He pointed across the street to a place that wasn't quite as clustered with selling booths. There weren't too many people hanging out there, just a few who tried to eat in a more or less quiet spot, and the lighting wasn't as quite as bright over there, too, so Blair figured it might even improve his headache. "Just do your... stuff and pick me up when you're done, yeah?" 

He turned then, not waiting for an answer. Jim had heard him, and Jim had - with a little luck - understood. Now Blair had to get out of this madhouse before he lost his mind. 

* * *

How did he do it, anyway? Usually it took just one strange smell or bright light to distract Jim and get his senses off-balance, but today it was different somehow. _He_ seemed different. 

Blair wrapped his hands tighter around the styrofoam cup filled with hot chocolate and tried to soak up some of the heat radiating from it while he watched his friend move through the crowd. Every now and then Jim would stop to look at an item more closely, or to ask a question, and sometimes he just stopped in the middle of the street, tilted his head and stood absolutely motionless, eyes half-closed, mouth slightly open. 

And then, out of the blue, Blair suddenly understood what was going on with his friend - that for once Jim didn't keep a tight reign on his senses, but let them roam free instead, drift from one sensual impression to the other, not concentrating long on a single one, but trying to take in as many as possible instead. 

Jesus Christ, this market was one giant sensual feast to Jim, and he obviously tried to get drunk on sight, and sound, and smell. 

* * *

Damn, were had he gone? 

Blair rose up on his toes to get a better view, but it didn't help much; he still couldn't make out his partner in the crowd. Shit, he'd only looked away one second. 

He sighed and raised a hand to rub the itching spot right between his eyebrows hard. He could feel the throbbing behind his temples grow in intensity, and he closed his eyes then, taking a few deep breaths to calm himself. 

Great, now he'd lost Jim, too. Just what he'd needed. 

Blair let out his breath slowly. He should go home, that's what he should do. Let Jim get a cab, or something like that. Hey, he _had_ given him the keys and told him to drive, right? 

The half-formed idea was suddenly interrupted when Blair felt someone come up from behind. Someone large, who wasn't content with just sneaking up on him, but who obviously thought his clothing was lacking something. Blair went stiff when he felt a hand pat his back before said someone proceeded to put a soft and fuzzy object on his head, yanking it down until it fit. 

God, no. 

* * *

'Please. Someone tell me this isn't what I think it is.' 

Blair inhaled deeply before he reluctantly opened his eyes to glare at Jim, who watched him with a wide grin. Another slow breath until Blair felt ready to check out the... 'thing' on his head. Yup, just what he'd been afraid of. Red-and-white Santa cap. 

"Was that really necessary?" he sighed and raised a hand to pluck the cap from his head. 

He found his hand caught and trapped in Jim's before he could remove the offensive object. Blinking in surprise, he stared up into Jim's eyes that were sparkling with laughter. Jesus Christ, more of that smile. 

Then Jim tugged the cap back down with his free hand until it touched Blair's ears before he started to wag a finger in front of the younger man's face. "Ah-ah-ah! Don't make Uncle Sentinel mad. Leave it on." he chastised him playfully before he used his index finger to gently tap on the tip of Blair's nose. And then... 

... then his hand stroked Blair's cheek, just the briefest of caresses that was accompanied by another smile, warm and affectionate. Another short pat, a grin, and then Jim went back into the crowd. 

* * *

The simple action had stunned Blair into speechlessness, and for a few seconds all he could do was stare at Jim's broad back. Christ on crutches. That had been... different. 

They had always touched a lot, and they'd even snuggled and hugged sometimes... but it had never felt quite like that, never quite as intense. Right now, something had changed between them. There had been a strange quality to Jim's gaze, something that seemed to turn the otherwise innocent little gesture into one with a deeper meaning. 

It couldn't be, right? Not really. 'Naw, man. Not Jim... not Jim and _me_.' 

Then again... There _had_ been something in the way Jim had been looking at him, he was sure about that. Blair had his problems with handling the deeper relationships in his life, true, but he had always prided himself of being good at spotting the more... 'carnal' interests others had in him. And he'd gotten a good glimpse at those a moment ago. 

Blair sighed, rubbing his eyes. There was really only one way to find out, right? 

* * *

"Hey, Jim." Blair watched the Sentinel turn his head at the quiet greeting, and then Jim smiled at him once again. Damn. He ought to get a license to kill for that particular facial feature. 

"You're back." 

"Yeah, the head's better now." Blair paused, pondering about the right approach, then decided to go with the very straightforward one. "Jim... back there... I mean, you're not by any chance planning to... y'know... sort of... seduce me?" 

He held his breath then, which takes real concentration when you're busy with mentally slapping yourself for your poor choice of words. 

But Jim... Jim just looked at him very seriously for a while, tilting his head to one side as if he were considering the answer carefully. "Planning - no, not really." he shook his head after a moment, and Blair let out the breath he'd been holding when his friend didn't seem mad about his unusual inquiry. "But trying - yeah, looks like it." 

That was the moment when Blair really began to feel like somebody had just yanked a rug out from under his feet, and he had to concentrate hard to stay on said appendages while he watched Jim shrug casually and take off once again to explore the rest of the Christmas Market as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. 

* * *

Blair stared. At Jim. He knew he was doing it, and he knew it would probably bother Jim, but he couldn't help it. A quick, sideways glance every now and then simply wouldn't have worked out because he was too... nervous? Yeah, nervous, too. Maybe irritated, although that would have been a mild expression for his current state of confusion. 

Funny how just one sentence could cure a headache. Or shift the dynamic tension in a relationship. Like, totally. 

He started out a theory about that with a mental 'I think...', but then stopped before he even got to the point of sorting out the main idea. He didn't really know what to think. Hell, what are you _supposed_ to think when your very-best-but-same-sex friend tries to hit on you at Christmas Eve? 

'Start with a basic question then - do you like the idea?' He didn't have to work long on that one - he felt the corners of his mouth curl up into a silly little grin, so he had his answer. 'Okay, so you like it. Makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. What now, Dr. Ruth?' 

"Want some gluehwein, Chief?" 

Before Blair could actually react to either question, he felt Jim shove a new styrofoam cup into his hands, and the scent of that weird spiced and heated wine assaulted his nose. He sniffed experimentally, then wrinkled his nose and looked up to meet Jim's eyes. "Do I have to?" 

"Aw, spoilsport. Taste it. It's good." Jim urged him, but Blair still hesitated, staring into the cup as if the contents would jump out any second to assimilate him. The picture he made seemed to be pretty damn amusing, because Jim began to grin from ear to ear all of a sudden. 

"What?!" 

"Y'know, considering that you already ate meals that consisted of bugs and maggots and God knows what else, you're being pretty squeamish about a bit of warmed alcohol, Sandburg." 

"I'm just careful, man. You know that the name of that stuff translates as 'glowing wine'? Jim, I ask you, would you willingly taste anything that glo-- Okay, different question - do you have any idea what's in it to _make_ it glow?" 

"You, Chief." 

"Pardon?!" 

"Makes _you_ glow. The wine doesn't glow. You just feel hot and fuzzed up when you drink it, y'know?" 

"Oh." Hot. Oh, yeah, he could do hot. "I knew that." he announced while he carefully tried a sip. 

He watched Jim shake his head in amusement, and when his friend resumed his path, Blair was back at his side, taking another swallow of gluehwein. 

Hey, that stuff wasn't bad. 

* * *

Okay, eventually he had to admit that he was puzzled. Kinda. So he began to ask himself the Big Question. If Jim wanted to seduce him, and if Blair himself wasn't averse to the idea, either - what the hell were they still doing here? 

Hey, he was a practical guy after all. 

His 'practical' thoughts, however, distracted him enough to let him end up bumping into Jim's massive figure, and it threw him off-balance for a second. "Hey. Careful, Chief." Jim's hand came up to steady him, and he felt it rest on his arm for a moment, then move in a somewhat caressing way. 

Jesus Christ, his _skin_ _prickled_ were Jim touched him. 

Just a slow, leisurely stroke, running from his shoulder down to his elbow and back up, nothing more, but it felt like electricity sparkling between them for a heartbeat. It was just a friendly gesture, one they'd shared a hundred times, but it had definitely never felt like _that_ before. 

"You okay?" 

Blair felt his breath hitch in his throat when he raised his head to meet Jim's gaze. 'Oh, yeah, I'm fine, Jim. Except that my heart's pounding away a mile a minute, and I suddenly start to feel like a sixteen-year-old whenever I look at you.' He nodded dizzily. 'What the hell are you doing to me, Ellison...?' 

Jim gave him a smile then, a quick one, with just the corner of his mouth quirking up, but there was a strange softness in his gaze, and all in all he looked just so damn _tender_ that Blair was sure, just for the fraction of a second, that Jim would kiss him, right then, right there. 

He felt their bodies sway closer involuntarily, and he felt a shiver run down his neck. Was that the moment where he was supposed to imagine what Jim's lips would feel like on his? 

They stood like that for a long moment, so damn close to each other it almost hurt not to touch. Blair felt his fingers itch, and his muscles jumped with the desire to feel Jim, but of course he couldn't do that, not here, not in the middle of this crowd. 

And finally, the Sentinel took a step back, cracking the shell of personal space they had managed to create around them. But when he moved back into the mass of strangers, his Guide stayed right by his side as a constant presence. A promise of touch. 

* * *

Okay. Time for Plan B. Give The Subject a good reason to leave the labyrinth and head towards the actual test area. 

"Jim, you sure you're all right, with all this noise and stuff? I mean, usually your senses go way off the chart in such an environment..." 

Jim turned his head to glance at him briefly. Then his eyes lost their focus for a moment, and for some bizarre reason it pleased Blair immensely that Jim was actually taking his concern serious enough to do a quick check on his system. "No. No, I feel fine, Chief." 

"I can make you feel better." What? WHAT had he just said?! Blair coughed nervously as he felt his cheeks heat up with embarrassment. 'Lord, I'm adjusting _way_ too easy to this...' 

Jim, though, just tilted his head to the side as if he were pondering the suggestion carefully, and the speculative gaze he gave him made his friend feel somewhat... tingly. Then he shook his head. "I doubt that." he grinned and turned once again, this time leaving a very puzzled and slightly frustrated Guide behind. 

'I'll get another headache. I swear I will.' 

* * *

"Okay, spill it." 

"Spill what?" 

"You still haven't told me why we are here." - 'Oh wow, look at that. No verbal answer, but what a beautiful glare you get.' Blair cocked his head and met Jim's eyes calmly, not willing to be intimidated into letting-it-go. "I mean, there _is_ a reason for you enjoying this thing, since you're usually not the festive type, right?" 

"I don't know. I guess." Jim shrugged, going for casual, but failing when his gaze trailed off. "I've been coming here since I was a kid. I think that's about the only Holiday ritual I have - I get here and try to soak up some Christmas spirit, y'know." 

"Oh." - 'You're a damn idiot, Blair Sandburg, and you know that, don't you? Should have been as plain as glass to you, but nooo...' Sighing, he ran a hand through his unruly hair in a nervous gesture. 

He wasn't going to think about it, really. He didn't _need_ to think about the kind of Christmas Jim had had when he'd been a kid, because with the kind of relationship he'd had with his brother and father, he was sure it had been emotional torture. 

He'd bet a lot of bucks that it hadn't even been openly cold. No, quite the contrary - from what he'd seen and heard, he was sure Pop Ellison had liked to present the Holidays in a very... 'traditional' kinda way. You try celebrate caring and good will with a family that gets under your skin like a fishing knife. Ack. Emotional suicide. 

'Damn. I tried _not_ to think about it.' 

"Jim..." He stared at his own hand that hovered just above his friend's arm, not quite touching him, not quite sure if it was the right thing to do. When he looked up at Jim's face, he found it tense, not giving anything away. 'What else is new?' Blair shook his head then. "I still don't get it. This isn't Christmas spirit, man. This is all light, and sound, and way too many people who get a rush out of stuffing strange food into their mouths." 

"Yeah, it is. But it's about the only place were people are honest about their feelings." 

"Honest? When they're jostling, and pushing, and buying stuff they don't really need?" There were certain times when Blair wanted to curse his loud mouth for always being ahead of his brain, and this was definitely one of them. He saw the flicker of emotion on Jim's face, but by then it was too late to keep quiet and simply accept his explanation. "Jim... Hey, I'm sorry, man." He shrugged again then, and this time he did reach for Jim. And it felt good to know that he could touch him like that, and his friend wouldn't even flinch. "I just can't see it in here, y'know." 

Jim turned then and stared at him like he wanted to crawl inside his head, and after a while Blair felt like he was being stripped bare by the scrutinizing gaze. But then, just as he began to feel slightly uncomfortable, Jim nodded all of a sudden, as if he'd come to a conclusion. 

* * *

"Jim? What--?" Sounds of a confused anthropologist being dragged right into what had to be the noisiest spot of the whole Christmas Market. 

"It's okay, Chief, I just wanna show you... there." 

Hands turned Blair around, got him into the right position, then settled on his shoulders and adjusted him until his back was resting against the Sentinel's chest. He tried to resist for a moment, but Jim's hands stayed where they were, keeping him firmly in place, and finally he sighed and accepted his fate. 

"Okay, what now?" 

"Now you'll close your eyes and listen to me for a while." Blair's soft snicker at the sudden role reversal earned him an impatient rumble. He felt Jim tighten his grip and give him a little jiggle until he behaved. "I'm serious, Blair. Do it." 

And eventually, Blair took a deep breath and did as he had been asked. 

* * *

It was a weird feeling. He was drifting in twilight while he was surrounded by so many people it was disconcerting. 

He heard them around him constantly, felt them when they brushed against him casually, like it happened in a crowd like that. He could even smell them, tell them apart, which really surprised him, because he'd never really been a scent-person. 

He found that he didn't particularly like the feeling of not knowing what was going on around him, of being blind as a bat right in the middle of dozens of people. But Jim was there with him, and Jim's hands were a constant presence on Blair's shoulders to keep him grounded, so there wasn't any real reason to feel intimidated. Riiight. 

A soft chuckle, close to his ear, and he almost jumped out of his pants. "Breathe, Sandburg. It can't be that bad." 

"No... I'm just not used to this." - 'And why the hell am I whispering, anyway?' 

"It's okay. I'm here." He felt Jim's grip on him tighten for just a second, a reassuring squeeze, and he nodded because it _was_ okay. 

"Okay, Jim. Go on." 

For a moment all Blair heard in reply was the Sentinel's soft breathing while Jim tried to find a point to start. "Tell me what you hear," he finally murmured, his lips brushing against his friend's cheek. 

And Blair tried, but this felt all so weird and strange that he couldn't come up with anything useful. "A bunch of people?" he finally joked. The only reaction to the flippant response was silence, though, and after a moment Blair sighed, leaning back with his eyes still closed, until his head was nearly resting on his friend's shoulder. "Jim, I don't know this side of the game. I have no idea what I'm supposed to look for. You need to give me a hint, man - tell me where to begin." 

"Hm." The sound was barely more than a soft vibration against his neck, and Blair shivered at the strange sensation. Then Jim pulled him closer, and he felt the Sentinel's body as a warm, hard presence against his back. "Just listen, Blair. Don't try to focus on anything in particular. There are so many sounds - let them drift around you, like when you're lying on the beach and the water's lapping at your feet." 

"Okay." he murmured, taking a deep breath. "I think I can do that." 

"Good." Strong hands slowly stroked his shoulders, thumbs rubbed along his neck, and Blair felt himself melt into the caress. 'God, I could get used to this.' 

"Still just a bunch of people to you?" A small sound was all he managed, but it seemed to be enough for Jim. "Then listen for something else. There are sounds out there that don't come from the crowd. Tell me about those." 

It took a long while to get used to this, but eventually, Blair smiled. "Jim?" 

"Hm?" 

"We did come by this guy who sold musical instruments, right?" 

"Yeah. What's with him?" 

"I hear him. I mean, the stuff in his booth. Somewhere to the left, I think." 

"You're right." Fingertips stroking up his neck, moving through his hair and massaging his skin. Warm breath on his cheek. "What exactly do you hear?" 

"Bells, mostly. Y'know, those tiny bells he sold on bracelets and necklaces? Geez, they're jingling like mad. Must be the wind roughing them up. Oh - I can hear the wind, too." His face relaxed when another sound wove itself into the slowly forming image. "A kid's trying out one of his drums now, and he's laughing. The kid, too. Didn't realize he has such a nice voice when we went by." 

"Tell me more, babe." The voice was so soft he could almost feel the smile against his skin, and he felt his own lips widen in response. "What else is there?" 

"I hear Christmas carols, but I bet that's not what you want to know... there's metal on metal, screeching a bit. Somewhere down the road. Don't know what it is, though... Wait, there are more children laughing... that's the merry-go-round!" Grinning, Blair tried to look at Jim. 

"Ssh, keep your eyes closed, we're not done. Go on. Tell me everything you hear." 

And he complied and turned back then, stupendously happy all of a sudden, still tasting the laughter at the back of his throat. "There's a small shuffling sound, like something is being pushed around in a bowl. This one's close by, but I don't think I've heard it before. What is it?" 

"A vendor is roasting almonds." Jim's voice was just a low whisper, running down his neck like velvet, with his hands smoothing the way, and Blair leaned back, pressing against the solid body that supported him. "Can you smell them?" 

He tried, and it felt like his whole perspective shifted to smell all of a sudden. "Wow. Yeah, I can." He inhaled deeply, nearly tasting the air. "There's the smell of wax, too - must be those scented candles. And some of those perfume oils... and... Jesus, I can't believe I'm noticing this..." 

"What?" 

"You," he whispered. "This is wild, man. I just realized that I know exactly how you smell, Jim." He breathed in again, turning his head a little to the side to catch more of the scent, and then he smiled, a grin of delight this time. "I like it." 

Jim's gently kneading hands stilled on his neck for a moment. Then, very slowly, one of them slid along his shoulder and then a notch further down, until he could feel it rest against his chest. He felt Jim's muscles tense with the effort it took not to pull him into a real embrace, and he wondered if it was just his own heart beating so hard. 

"Can you smell other people?" 

"Yeah. Some. But I don't care about them, y'know." 

"Yah. I think I know." He felt a hand smooth back the curls from his temple and tuck them behind his ear, and for some reason the small gesture turned his knees to jelly. "Listen to them, Blair. How do they sound? Tense?" 

"No... no, not really." It took him a while to get his concentration back on what he was doing - tough thing when all you want to do is wrap your arms around the man who's holding you. "There's a lot of laughter. Quiet voices, calm and relaxed, from what I can make out. Someone... oh, wow. Someone's playing a flute, and some guys are starting to sing along. 'Silent Night'." He fell quiet then, thinking, listening. Drinking in the things he had never consciously noticed before. 

And after long minutes, he raised a hand to cover the one that was still resting on his shoulder. "So this is it." 

"Yeah." Just a soft sound against his neck, not much more than a breath. Then he felt Jim's right hand rub his shoulder slowly, down his arm, finally settling at the small of his back, and it took no longer than a heartbeat for Blair to decide. He reached for his friend's hand and pulled Jim's arm completely around his waist, and it felt so good that he leaned back into the embrace, resting his head against Jim's shoulder. Touch. Mustn't forget touch. 

He felt something on his face then, a tiny sting, a minute wetness, and when he opened his eyes, he saw a bunch of white flakes whirl down. "Hey, look." he whispered, his voice laced with a sense of wonder as he watched some higher power (which had obviously decided that it was about time) shroud Cascade in a thin layer of whiteness. "It's snowing." 

"Yeah." There was a roughness in Jim's voice that hadn't been there a moment before, and for a while Blair thought that was all his friend would say. 

Then, suddenly, the arm around his waist held him tighter. He felt the Sentinel lean into him, and the words were so quiet he nearly missed them. "Merry Christmas, Chief." 

And Blair smiled, because all of a sudden he felt warm, and content, and happy, and because it was a thrilling feeling to be held by those arms, and because it was even better to know that those arms wouldn't let go of him for a while. 

And because Jim could have just as well said 'I love you'. 

* * *

End The Spirit.

 


End file.
